


Razones Diez Para Adorarlo

by DarchangelSkye



Category: American Idol RPF, Glam Rock RPF, Music RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Character of Color, Commitment, Eating Disorder, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Latino Character, Love, M/M, Minor Canonical Character(s), Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Past Abuse, Therapy, Vignettes, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-08
Updated: 2010-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-11 00:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarchangelSkye/pseuds/DarchangelSkye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was different, but something told him it'd be worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Razones Diez Para Adorarlo

**Author's Note:**

> Based on characters and situations from the LiveJournal RPG community SongChoice.

**I.**  
There was a mute, gray softness, like Tommy always felt in those few moments before completely waking up. Very slowly he opened his eyes to see a blue wall he definitely did _not_ own. The fuzz was soon replaced with the traditional post-date morning amnesia panic of _This is not my house!_

He sat up, seeing he was at the foot of the unfamiliar bed instead of the headboard. An obviously human shape was bundled at that end, and Tommy could see a mass of dark curls peeking out. He rubbed his eyes to get his vision and memory back into place, and he smiled. "Mornin', kid."

After a moment of stirring, Jorge rolled over and sat up as well, his instant smile just as bright as ever. "Good morning, Tommy," he chirped.

Tommy felt a little blush at seeing the kid so chipper, which deepened when he looked down at himself to see he was still in the borrowed pajamas. "Pretty comfy room y'got here."

"Yes, I usually sleep very well," Jorge finished rubbing the sleep from the eyes and reached for the dresser drawer. Tommy took that as a cue to slide off the mattress and head for the bathroom where he'd left his own clothes.

Tommy smiled to himself as he changed and freshened up, thinking back to the conversations from last night. Yep, this kid was certainly different from what he was used to dating, not that it was a bad thing, but rather refreshing. Somehow he didn't mind the idea of taking time for him and Jorge to get to know each other- maybe that meant he was really special. Whatever the case was, it was going to be interesting.

Once Tommy had finished, he went back to the young man's room to see him freshly dressed as well. "OK if I make us both some breakfast before I head out? Seeing as I did crash here at the last minute," he said with a grin.

Jorge shook his head. "I'm not hungry right now, Tommy. But you can make yourself whatever. I don't mind you coming here when you want to."

Oh, so innocent and trusting! "Well..." Tommy cocked his head and possibly made his grin coyer. "Can I ask for a good-morning kiss?"

"Uh..." Jorge chuckled and blushed noticeably. "Sure." He stepped over, tilted his head, and puckered with all the adorable awkwardness of someone still getting used to such contact.

Tommy couldn't help humming in delight as he pecked down a sweet kiss. Yep, this was different, but something told him it'd be worth it.

**II.**  
It seemed like all rational thought had been blotted out. Tommy kept sitting frozen with only thumbs moving, phone in his hand as he had been since Alisan had sent the alert asking if he was sitting down as she had to tell him something.

Now matter how often he'd suspected it over the past few weeks, he hadn't wanted to believe it. His mind came up with every other possible explanation- Jorge just wasn't a big eater, he had a naturally tiny frame, he wasn't used to the California atmosphere, it was a holdover from his family being so poor- anything but what turned out to be the sad and horrible truth.

Despite the deep despair Tommy felt, he couldn't even cry. The only thoughts to run through his head on loop: _He needs me. He needs help. I'll be there for him. I_ want_ to be there for him._

Once Ali had pulled Jorge into the messaging as well, thumbs were flying as Tommy went into strategy mode, everything from therapists to nutritionists to how to keep it out of the tabloid press. Jorge only gave the texting equivalent of nods, which led Tommy eventually to sigh.

_I'm not doing too much. There can't be such a thing as too much. This...it's what people do when they want to help, right?_

The silence was still unsettling. Furiously he typed out before he could rationally think it over, _Jorgie, I know I sound like I'm babbling a lot and I'm sorry. I just love you and want you to be ok and I'll do anything for you, alright?_

If one thing could be said about Tommy, it was he was a caring person. What he felt, he felt completely.

Still, the ol' l-word might be too much too soon, right?

Tommy held his breath for a good minute until he saw the reply pop up:

_I know...I love you too._

Slowly he let out his breath and felt the hint of a smile forming. Even if it was obviously a long ways to go before things would be better, at least it was starting off on the right foot.

**III.**  
To say Jorge had an animated voice was not an exaggeration at all. From the adorable (in Tommy's opinion, anyway) excited multilingual babbles, to a dreamy far-away lilt when he talked about his family and life on the island, to the bright rich tones of his singing that made people take notice.

There was another aspect to his voice Tommy was hearing more of lately, with the circumstances that brought it about being too heartbreaking to consider anything about it sweet.

It was a small, childlike voice, a regression Jorge seemed to take on completely as he'd look to his feet and draw his already-tiny frame in upon itself and tremble his hands.

It was a voice that spoke of bright lights and a hospital cot that overwhelmed his younger body. Of a man tall as a giant in his frightened eyes with a gruff voice that threatened a lot worse than what was already coming to him if he ever told anyone or made a noise. Of pain and humiliation and fear and the overwhelming shame he would never be pure or clean again, that everyone who looked at him would know right off the bat and never accept him.

Jorge would cry, no matter how many tissues the therapist handed to him and explained in her hushed tones that his feelings were normal, but he was none of the awful adjectives he'd spit out to describe himself.

Tommy kept his crying on the inside (at least in the office, anyway) and did his best to keep his voice steady and even; he figured somebody had to be the strong one in this crisis. Even if Jorge was now showing more strength than he ever believed he could be capable of.

As always, he curved a comforting hand over dark, trembling fingers, whether or not it did anything to quell the small voice did not matter. It was Tommy's unspoken declaration that he would always be there that mattered.

**IV.**  
It was a pathetic sight among sights. Sure, Jorge had picked out the chef's salad, but was now scraping off every egg slice, cheese flake and bacon bit he could from the lettuce. He tentatively reached for a bread roll but drew his hand back like avoiding a mousetrap, and there was no use even starting on his reaction to the granola bars.

Of course, Tommy reasoned to himself, if it was painful for him to _watch_, how bad was it for Jorge who was actually _experiencing_ it? He had to be understanding, above everything else. He picked up the uneaten half of his veggie sandwich and laid it on the young man's napkin. "This is really good," he said as a gentle encouragement.

Jorge stared at it for a long moment before murmuring, "I'll try." A good sign, but he made a face upon biting down as if finding a worm.

"What?"

Jorge lowered the sandwich and gave a sheepish grin. "There's mayonnaise."

"...oh." Tommy looked down and felt his face redden, ashamed of not being more observant.

The younger man just shrugged. "I'm sorry, Tommy, this is really hard."

_This_ meaning eating. Tommy's tongue stayed heavy in his mouth, trying to think of what was appropriate. "You're trying." _Wait, does that count as a 'you' statement? Tommy, you jackass!_

But Jorge only shrugged and went back to his salad, nibbling leaf by leaf.

Oh well. One step at a time.

**V.**  
Tommy had tried protesting otherwise- "Seriously babe, I have two left feet, it's embarrassing"- but sweet and naive Jorge still had confidence in him (that he rarely put in himself, but that was another matter). Which was how Tommy ended up feeling mentally transported back in time to his first school dance, sweaty hands tightly clasped to his partner's and feet barely shuffling. At least Jorge had been forgiving enough not to put on one of his ultra-fast salsa albums.

"Just watch my feet and do what they do, Tommy, it's OK," the young man reassured as he carefully stepped from side to side, occasionally adding a little wiggle to his movements that he knew got a laugh out of his boyfriend. Tommy bit his lip as he chuckled, because it _was_ cute like just about everything Jorge did, but he couldn't bring himself to laugh.

Even with their bodies pressed close to take in each other's warmth and heartbeat, Tommy could make out every painfully thin feature before him. Jorge's face had yet to reach critical gauntness, but the once-adorable slenderness of his arms and fingers were wearing fast. Hugging him was like hugging a pile of sticks. Every smile he was greeted with in the morning was becoming less beautiful and more haunting. And-

"Whoop-" Jorge's body dipped in stance slightly, and once Tommy had pulled him back up, he could see the young man's legs visibly shaking. There was no way in hell _that_ was good.

"You don't need to do this, little prince," Tommy said softly, wanting to give him so much mercy.

But Jorge only grinned and shook his head. "If you're going to be teaching me the guitar, I am teaching you to dance. Fair is fair."

Tommy regarded him for a long moment before placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Let's see if I can lead a little," was his murmured response, and he picked up Jorge a little so his feet were resting on Tommy's like a vulnerable child. He didn't protest.

**VI.**  
Every letter, phone call, and package from Tommy was always different: small toys from Rhode Island, a detailed recap of the Broadway show the band had caught with a bootleg audio clip, handcrafted Canadian figurines, photos galore from Colorado. No matter where he was, he always wanted Jorge to feel like they were still together and taking in every beautiful sight.

Every letter and phone call from Jorge was always the same: the hospital room was too small, the food was terrible and had obviously been laced with calorie boosters, he was gaining too much weight, the therapy sessions were humiliating, the doctors wouldn't leave him alone (never mind being grateful Tommy had paid an obscene amount of money to make sure as few male doctors were near him as possible), he missed everybody and wanted to go home _right now._

It hurt every time for Tommy to bite his lip and tune it all out after a while. He'd learned a lot of things himself, and the true definition of "tough love" was the most prominent. Not that he didn't care about Jorge, sometimes he wondered if he cared too much. But this was the right thing, it really was.

After the end of every tirade, when there was nothing more to say, Tommy always said the same things: I'm glad you're doing all right, keep taking care of yourself, I'll talk to you again soon, it won't be long before I'm home, I love you.

And he always had to pretend his heart wasn't breaking, even if this was the right thing.

**VII.**  
Few thrills could compare to the one Tommy felt every time he took the stage. The lights, the scream of the crowds, the rush of music in his ears and under his fingers- nothing like it. Sometimes he closed his eyes if it was a particularly tricky bass line so he could concentrate, but more often than not they stayed open so he could take in everything. It was a visual reward he wouldn't trade for almost anything else.

As the dancers were working their steps in the middle of the catwalk, Adam was strutting on stage like he owned the place (which, to be honest, he did) and giving off the energy everyone responded to. Tommy smirked, knowing one of their trademark stage-flirting moments was coming up. They'd agreed long ago such things were purely for show, a little fantasy for the audience, but it was still amusing. Adam stepped close, twirled at Tommy's shock of blond hair, and turned around for a shoulder-to-shoulder rub that elicited the traditional screams from most of the girls and likely a good amount of the fellas.

Tommy couldn't help laughing to himself and remembered one of his solos was coming up. Soon as Adam stepped away, he made his way to as close to the edge of the stage as possible and held his bass as tightly as wielding a weapon. His fingers flew over the strings to more screams of approval, and he looked around the audience for that one person to focus on, to smile at and make them feel like the center of the universe, even if only for a moment.

Within the first few rows, Tommy saw plenty of people on their feet, dancing and clapping rhythm, holding up brightly-colored signs and some even twirling their own boas. And yet, he ultimately found his attention focused on the young man sitting calmly, smiling sweetly and never taking his eyes off the bassist.

Even from this distance, Tommy could see all the love in the world radiating from Jorge's eyes, an expression that spoke of no anger or fear or pain, but forgiveness about the last few months, a reassurance that things would be all right (if not perfect) from now on, and a never-bending faith. From the smile on his (finally fuller) face to the shy wiggle of his fingers in a wave, he looked nothing less than innocence and happiness.

Tommy pecked a quick kiss on his fingertips to blow out, and of course every girl in the first five rows squealed with the belief it was for them. Didn't matter. Tommy knew what he believed, kept playing while keeping his gaze near the man he loved.

OK, maybe there was _one_ thing he'd trade the visual and the cheers for.

**VIII.**  
It would be cliché to say Tommy was feeling at peace, but he _was_ feeling pretty damn good. He drew his bare arm away from his forehead where it had been resting since such post-activity sleepiness set in, and lifted the covers for a tiny peek beside him. Yep, Jorge was still there and as beautiful as ever. (He _had_ dropped a couple pounds since leaving the hospital, but his "Don't worry, I'll gain them back" was reassuring.) His eyes were still half-shut and smile still adorably dizzy, and soon as he noticed Tommy was looking at him again, the same amazed "Wow," left his lips as it had earlier in the night.

Tommy warmly smiled back and pulled Jorge back on top for a deep cuddle, savoring the sensation of warm skin. "Still no regrets?"

"Nope," Jorge shook his head and laughed softly. "I just...am I supposed to feel so different?"

"Well..." Tommy started, figuring the good kind of different was meant as he stroked the young man's curls, "you did take a big step forward, break down a few walls. If it wasn't so corny, I'd say I'm very proud of you, Jorgie," he finished with a smile.

"I think you just did," Jorge chuckled but laid down a loving kiss. "At least it wasn't...as scary as I thought it would be," he added softly.

Tommy nodded in understanding. "It's never supposed to be scary...when done for the right reasons." He draped his arms around Jorge's shoulders, loving how it looked in the room's dimmed light. "You need anything else right now?"

Jorge shook his head. "I'm good, Tommy. Can we just sleep, please?"

"Of course." He tucked the covers as comfortably as possible around their bodies and gently kissed at the younger man's forehead as they drifted off. Any "I love you" wasn't necessary, they knew it was there.

**IX.**  
There was no mistaking it, Puerto Rico was light years from LA. The skies were brighter, the air smelled fresher, even the sand felt different between Tommy's toes. Of course, it probably didn't hurt that he had a happily beautiful young man smiling and holding his hand as he gleefully kicked along the shoreline.

Jorge was the perfect tour guide, regaling memory after memory as he pointed out houses and the markets, the park he and his siblings played in all the time...when they had even driven by his old school, he had kept his tone even and somber, reassuring Tommy that yes, there were good days, gold underneath the tarnish.

Now Jorge sat in the sand, letting his legs dangle freely into the water, and Tommy couldn't help smiling as he sat beside him.

"I really have to thank you, Tommy," Jorge said after a peaceful moment of silence.

"Thank _me_? You're the one who brought me to this paradise," Tommy kept grinning and draped a loving arm around the young man's shoulder.

Jorge just laughed, the most beautiful sound in the world to Tommy, and looked down to draw swirls in the wet sand. "But you've done so much more for me...it's not any secret I was a mess when we met."

Much as Tommy wanted to protest otherwise, he knew this to be the truth.

"I was so scared...that nobody would accept me or care about me if they knew the truth...that they'd just run." He looked back up, still smiling but in seriousness. "But you didn't run. You stayed and saved my life. I don't know how to begin to repay you."

Tommy's smile stayed as loving as ever as he hugged Jorge tighter. "Love...I never did any of what I did to expect to be rewarded...unless you count the knowledge that you were happy and healthy and loved. When I care about someone, I want everything to be all right for them."

Jorge blinked as the sunlight streamed more in their direction and drew a large heart in the sand. "When did you begin to care about me?" he asked.

Tommy didn't have to think long for his answer. "Remember on the first night, when you were talking about how you wanted a better life in America?" His free hand rested on Jorge's heart. "I don't know _how_ it happened...but something in me just wanted to do everything I could to make sure you got what you deserved...and was happy."

Jorge chuckled, but not in derision. "I'm that special, huh?"

"You always have been," Tommy whispered and pressed a soft kiss to the young man's temple, and they turned their attention back to the bright island sun. He wanted to say more- how being with Jorge had changed him as well, how he felt so much more calm and at peace, how he never knew he was so capable of love before, how glad he was everything had fallen into place the way it did- but Tommy didn't know if the words would come out right.

What he _did_ know was they were together in this moment and couldn't wish for much more else. They leaned their heads together, linked hands, and quietly watched the ocean and sky, content and loved.

**X.**  
"Forever." The word left his lips with much more ease than he thought it would, and he gently clasped his hand over Jorge's to slip on the simple but beautiful band. Maybe it didn't hurt that the only ones present were themselves and whatever higher power orchestrated all the circumstances that brought them together to this day.

Or maybe not. Tommy would've given up his rock'n'roll lifestyle to stand on a rooftop and proclaim his feelings to the world, but brash and crash wasn't always the way to go. Love and commitment didn't have to require a thousand witnesses and a legal flourish, it required honesty and patience, dedication and faith.

All of which Tommy knew he held in his heart. He'd made a promise from the beginning, and intended to keep it and live up to it.

"Forever," Jorge whispered back, and Tommy tried not to have his vision mist over as he watched the matching band slide down his long finger. Even if he failed, at least they were tears of happiness.


End file.
